The Village Spinster Page 4

  “And what do you think of Miss Driscoll?” the dowager asked, peering up at him with a dubious frown.

  “She strikes me as a trifle eccentric, but of no danger to the children. I promise you I will keep an eye on her."

  “Then you're going to be around for a time?"

  “Yes. A week or two at least.” It was not what he'd planned, but there was nothing for it now but to stay. “Please don't distress yourself, ma'am. The situation is under control."

  When he had escaped from his stepmother's overheated room, he sat for some time in his study considering what was best to be done. His brother, Will, had managed to avoid an encounter with him since the earl's return to Kinsford Hall and, since Will was the reason for Kinsford's coming, should doubtless be dealt with promptly.

  The matter of the damaged field had only come to his attention through running into Mr. Olsen that morning. His subsequent discussion with Aria had prompted his visit to Miss Driscoll. Everything remained at loose ends. It was not a situation with which Kinsford was comfortable. Something needed to be settled definitively. He sent for Will.

  But Will was not to be found. Kinsford left instructions that Will was to be brought to him at whatever hour he returned to the Hall, be it the middle of the night. He remained in his study, stretched out in his father's old leather chair, his feet up on the fender. There was a small fire against the chill of the early spring evening, and the flames glowed in his glass of brandy.

  He was troubled by the realization that things had not proceeded smoothly at Kinsford Hall during his prolonged absence in London. If his estate manager, Mr. Alman, hadn't happened to write that Will was home from school, Kinsford would not have realized that any problem existed. Since it was school-term time, there was no satisfactory reason for Will being at Kinsford Hall. The necessity of coming into the country to investigate matters had sorely tried Kinsford's patience. He had work to do in London.

  Four years previously, Kinsford had returned from his time in the army with Wellington dissatisfied with the way his country was being run. Though his father had seldom taken his seat in the House of Lords, Kinsford had decided to make his presence felt there. And to his own surprise, his energy and talents at politics had finally brought him into his own. He enjoyed the challenge of revitalizing a decaying system, the excitement of influencing men grown stuffy in their outmoded beliefs. In London, Kinsford knew he was having an effect on changing the very world in which he lived.

  He took a sip of his brandy and set the glass down, frowning at the fire. Somehow changing the country seemed simple compared to controlling his half-brother and half-sister, paying attention to the problems his estate manager constantly placed before him, and bearing with his stepmother's fantasy world. Or, if not simpler, at least a great deal more interesting.

  The earl hadn't the first idea how to handle a seventeen-year-old lad who belonged in school. He had, of course, once been seventeen himself. He remembered the time with a rather nostalgic affection. It was before he became a responsible, respected member of the community. How could he expect Will to do better than he had himself, especially when Will didn't have a father to act as a model?

  Kinsford very much feared that he might have to stay in the country even longer than it would take Aria to get well. It was not a comfortable feeling. A rap on the door disturbed his reverie. “Come in."

  Will stood uncertainly in the doorway. “You wanted to see me?"

  “Yes. Come in and close the door.” Kinsford rose and walked to the brandy decanter. “Would you like a glass?"

  “No, thanks.” At Kinsford's raised brow, he added, ‘I've just had a pint in Stanton Prior."

  The earl poured himself a splash more and nodded to the chair opposite his. “We need to have a talk."

  ''Is Aria worse?''

  “No, no. As far as I know, she's fine. I sent some pears over with Lucas this evening and Miss Driscoll reported that Aria was sleeping well and feeling a bit better."

  “Good."

  Though Kinsford stood for some time regarding his younger brother, Will was not discomfited into pouring out his heart. The earl remembered that he, too, had not been moved by such tactics, so he seated himself and asked, “Why are you home from school?"

  “They sent me down for a prank. The head said he was sending Mama a letter about it."

  “Your mother hasn't mentioned it."

  “She doesn't always read her mail, Kinsford. Especially letters from people she don't know."

  “I see.” Kinsford could picture the letter stuffed somewhere in her desk, unopened. He sighed.

  “Then you had best tell me yourself why you were sent down, and when you'll be allowed to return, if you will."

  “Well, of course I shall be allowed to return, if I wish. I think, though, that I've had quite enough schooling for the time being, don't you?"

  “I very much doubt it.” Kinsford settled back in his chair. “Why were you sent down?"

  “It was all on account of this silly gudgeon I'd taken to hanging about with. He simply could not keep a secret. Had to go and blab to everyone that we'd jammed the lock on the chapel. I mean, really, Kinsford, it's so cold in the chapel at that hour of the morning! You'd have thought they'd have a bit of a fire, wouldn't you?"

  “I certainly don't remember them having one when I was there.” Kinsford did remember shivering there many mornings of his youthful life. It had never occurred to him to jam the lock. “Was that all you did?"

  Will considered the question for a moment, and apparently decided that honesty was the wisest course. “Dr. Winters, the head, you know, said it was the last straw. Not that I'd done anything so awful! We kidnapped one of the master's dogs because it was always biting fellows who ran down the path. We had no intention of hurting it or keeping it for more than a day or two. Just put a fright into the fellow so he'd keep the dog locked up, don't you see?"

  “Yes, I see.''

  “And then,” Will said, getting caught up in his recital, “there was the missing plum pudding. I wasn't responsible for that. Hurst was always up in the boughs about something and Upton took the pudding because Hurst had broken his favorite quizzing glass. So of course I ate it when it was offered to me, though it wasn't as good as all that. I fancy cook does a much better one."

  “Anything else?"

  “Oh, just the usual stuff. You know. Roxie and I went into town one day for a lark. Weren't gone above three hours. I think it was Hurst who spilled the beans that time, too. Paltriest fellow, if you ask me."

  “And what's this I hear about the damage you and Aria did to Mr. Olsen's field?"

  “Now who told you that?” Will demanded. “That was all settled long ago.

  “So I hear. And without your mother's or my knowledge."

  “Well, you weren't here, for heaven's sake,” Will said reasonably. “And it would have been useless to tell Mama because she wouldn't have seen the harm in it. She don't like Olsen above half."

  This concurrence with Aria's view of the situation merely served to heighten Kinsford's frustration. “I don't quarrel with the way things have been arranged. It is the secrecy which distresses me."

  “You mean you wish you had known so you could comb my hair over it? Lord, Miss Driscoll did that well enough. You'd have thought we spent our time running down small children."

  It seemed a perfect opening for the other questions which were exercising his lordship. “Why would Miss Driscoll concern herself in the matter at all? I realize she happened to be there, but it certainly was none of her concern."

  Will grinned. “That's not the sort of thing that worries Miss Driscoll. For lack of anyone else,” he admitted innocently, “she's taken on the duties of our moral arbiter. Sometimes, when we go for dancing lessons, she makes us consider social questions. Like, if we knew that Jim Hooper was out of work and had a wife and child to support, what would we do about it?"

  “Who's Jim Hooper?"

  “Oh, just a fello
w over to Inglesbatch. Hardworking chap. Lost his job because the farmer there died and the property was sold."

  Will shifted restlessly in his chair. “Well, I didn't see how it was my responsibility, and certainly not Aria's, but Miss Driscoll saw it quite differently. She said we were all our brother's keepers, and since we could with ease employ someone of Jim Hooper's skills, it was our duty to do so.” His brows drew together. “I can't remember all her reasoning, but we talked to Alman and sure enough he gave Hooper a job. Worked out just fine and Miss Driscoll had Meg make us baked almond pudding to celebrate."

  The story made Kinsford absolutely livid. He could not have said precisely why, and he attempted to conceal his anger from his brother. Only the tightening of the muscles in his jaw betrayed him. To distract Will he asked with patent disbelief, “How can Miss Driscoll teach you and Aria the latest dances when she hasn't any contact with society at all, stuck off here in Pennwick?"

  “Damned if I know,” Will admitted easily. “Seems to know just what's in fashion, though. Waltzes and quadrilles and such. She rather makes it fun for a fellow.” He flushed. “Never thought I'd say that."

  Chagrined, Kinsford took another tack. “Well, how about this companion of hers. Perhaps she's the one who teaches Miss Driscoll the dances. What's Miss Snolgrass like?"

  “Never met her."

  “You've never met her?” Kinsford was incredulous. “You've been going to Miss Driscoll for three years."

  “Yes, but I'm more often away at school. Miss Snolgrass goes about a lot visiting family, you know. One time it's a sister, another an aunt. Very obliging woman, I dare say. She's even been to visit an old housekeeper in Surrey, and her governess (imagine!) in Wiltshire. Can't say I'd ever do that. Do you remember Miss Shreve? A termagant if ever there was one."

  Kinsford did not recall Miss Shreve, but that was beside the point. “Has your sister met Miss Snolgrass?"

  “I expect so. It isn't the sort of thing we discuss, Kinsford. I mean, the woman is a companion. Probably a mousy sort of person who hasn't a thing to say for herself."

  “Are you certain,” the earl asked sternly, “that Miss Snolgrass exists?"

  Will blinked at him. “Well, of course she exists, gudgeon. She's Miss Driscoll's companion."

  “But no one has ever seen her."

  “Lots of people have seen her,” Will protested. “Ask anyone in the village."

  “Very well. But she can't be much of a companion if she's never there."

  “How much of a companion does Miss Driscoll need?” Will asked, with a wave of his eager young hands. “She has a maid and she never goes anywhere out of the village. I dare say she only has Miss Snolgrass to live with her because the woman has nowhere else to go."

  “A young woman of Miss Driscoll's age cannot live alone,” Kinsford reminded him.

  “Young?” Will laughed. “She's almost as old as you are, Kinsford. And she wears those silly white caps all the time. She doesn't ride or drive or go about to entertainments except in the immediate neighborhood. Why should she need to have someone always with her?"

  “It's what's done.''

  “A sterling reason,” Will retorted.

  “Her reputation could be damaged if she didn't abide by such social rules."

  “What reputation? Miss Driscoll is just Miss Driscoll. Everyone here knows her, and has known her since she was born. Poor soul has come down so in the world, it would be just like a bunch of old biddies to make sport of her. But I wouldn't expect it of you, Kinsford."

  “I'm not making sport of her,” his brother insisted. “I'm simply pointing out the delicacy of her position. What about this man who came to visit her?"

  “You see!” Will jumped up from his chair and stalked around the room, stopping in front of the fire. “That's the sort of thing I wouldn't even expect of Lady Herbert."

  Sir John Herbert owned the manor house to the south of Pennwick village. His lady was a delightful and kind woman, but an inveterate gossip. Lord Kinsford did not relish being compared with her. “I'm not suggested there's anything improper going on,” he said. “With her companion present the subject would simply not arise."

  “It needn't arise if her companion is away, either.''

  “Don't fly into a miff.” Kinsford draped one buckskin-clad leg over the other and leaned back in his chair in an effort to convince his brother that he was perfectly at ease himself. “I'm curious. I've never met Mr. Traling before. I gather he's from Bath."

  Will shrugged. “I'm sure I don't know. I've only seen him once or twice before."

  “At Miss Driscoll's?"

  Will glared at him. “There you go again, insinuating that there's something amiss with him being there. Miss Driscoll isn't that sort of woman, Kinsford. And I've never seen him there except in the morning. Perfectly normal thing, a morning visit."

  “Does her maid live in?"

  Will stalked to the door. “I'm not going to answer any more of your shabby questions. She's one of the nicest people I've ever met and I won't be a party to such innuendo."

  “I'm not suggesting anything improper,” Kinsford protested again, but the door had already snapped sharply shut behind William. At another time Kinsford might have gone after him. Tonight he was too uncertain of his temper to do so. It seemed perfectly likely to him that he was indeed maligning Miss Driscoll's character by suggestion, because he felt almost unbearably annoyed with her.

  Imagine her setting herself up as character-builder to his brother and sister. As if he weren't capable of such a task! It didn't matter just then that he was seldom at home; Will and Aria were supposed to absorb sterling characteristics from him at whatever distance he maintained.

  And it irritated him beyond bearing that Aria was at that moment in Miss Driscoll's house, being taken care of by someone who was not even family: a woman whose father had gambled away his estate, leaving his daughter with so little she could only afford a cottage and a single servant. It was not the life to which she had been born and bred, making a living teaching pianoforte, drawing, and dancing to the neighborhood gentry.

  Not that the Barringtons had any reason to reproach themselves for their treatment of her. His father, the fourth earl, had gone so far as to purchase the manor house at a very reasonable price to make it possible for Miss Driscoll to satisfy her father's debts. And, though she'd refused the offer, he'd suggested that Miss Driscoll remain at Pennhurst for an indefinite time.

  The fact that the fourth earl had been one of Mr. Driscoll's major creditors was totally irrelevant.

  Chapter Five

  Early morning sun streamed through the windows of the dining parlor and fell on the polished mahogany table. Clarissa had finished her muffin but not the cold veal-and-ham pie. Her attention had wandered and she stared unseeing at a vine swaying across the multipaned window, a thin, veiny vine with no flowers but fresh green leaves. Clarissa barely noticed it, her mind was so locked in the past, on an event that she had managed to push out of her thoughts so long ago it seemed almost a dream. Perhaps it was a dream. A girlish daydream she had had when she lived at Pennhurst.

  She was climbing over a stile, dressed in one of those delightful walking dresses she had worn then, of thin jaconet muslin over a pale peach-colored sarsenet slip, a triple fall of lace at the throat. Like spring personified, she had radiated freshness and youth and unfurling potential. The last of a group of young people to make her way over the stile, she was being handed down by the young man in front of her, Alexander Barrington.

  He was not then yet earl, of course, but a rather wild young man. He went where he liked; he did what he chose. And he chose then to kiss her. Clarissa had never been kissed, and as kisses go, it was not much of a kiss. But his eyes had sparkled with mischief and he'd held her hands in both of his as she hopped to the ground. Then, so quickly she could not be sure later that she hadn't dreamed it, he'd brushed his lips against hers, and murmured, “Goddess of spring."

  There ha
d never been any acknowledgment of this moment, by either of them. For some time Clarissa had treasured it, thinking that perhaps it meant the young Viscount Barrington was interested in her. Not that she would have welcomed attention from such a reckless, feckless fellow, though there was no denying that he had been an exciting man. But he had given the neighborhood females a wide berth, and soon had left the country altogether to take up his military career.

  Her reverie was shattered by a jaunty knock on the front door. She started somewhat guiltily, pushing the memory from her again. Aria was still asleep in the sitting room, but there was much to be attended to.

  Meg stuck her head around the door. “Are you at home, Miss Driscoll?"

  “I don't see how I can avoid it,” she replied tartly. “Bring whoever it is in here first. And perhaps you'd better bring more tea and muffins."

  In a moment Meg returned to announce William. Clarissa sighed her relief and rose smiling at him. “Your sister is still sleeping, William. Join me for a cup of tea."

  “Does she seem all right, Miss Driscoll? I'm worried about concussion. They say it's very dangerous.” He took the seat she offered and looked about for a cup. When he didn't find one, he shrugged. “I've had breakfast."

  “Meg will bring what you need.” Clarissa tucked a wandering strand of hair under her lace cap. “Lady Aria seems to be resting comfortably. If she's hungry when she awakens, it will be a good sign, the doctor said."

  “She's always hungry,” Will assured her, before realizing that she had always, previously, been well. He stared forlornly at the vase in the center of the table which held tulips and daffodils. “I suppose if she were at home we'd have flowers in her room. She's very fond of them. I'll have some sent over."